Page 12 of The Villain
Even knowing that needling him would be dangerous to her well-being, Daphne could not resist. “Me, begyou? Never.”
Pressing his thumb to her clit again, he smirked. “Never? Are you certain?”
Her mind went vacant, all rational thought fleeing as he began stroking her again, this time with increased vigor. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to hold in the moans simmering in her throat, begging to be released along with the tension coiling low in her groin.
Bloody hell, she had gotten herself in over her head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His touch was supposed to repulse her, not make her feel … feel … well, like the surface of her skin had been set on fire. Like she would die if he ever stopped.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking me some ham-handed Neanderthal who will spend the next thirty days rutting on top of you for less than a minute each night before falling into a sound sleep,” he said, his gaze boring into her as he joined his hand with the other, his thumb steadily circling her clit while a finger stroked the entrance of her channel. “I intend to savor you, little dove … take my time and use you in every way I can think of. By the time I’m finished with you, there won’t be a place you haven’t felt me in, a body part your future lovers will touch that I have not touched first.”
Bending down over her, he rocked his hips, adding more of his weight against the hands tormenting her dangerously closer to the edge. The moan she’d been holding back spilled out, the sound high and keening—completely foreign and driven by the primitive need driving her to buck her hips up against his hands.
“You will take my cock into every orifice,” he taunted. “First here.”
His tongue came out to lap at her lips, and he plunged it inside as if to mimic an act that made her face flame hot.
“Then here,” he added, his index finger gaining an inch into her cunt, and then another.
Her eyes slid closed, and she buried her face against his shoulder, too far gone to care about his crass words and their implications, too overcome with pleasure to think past the thumb pleasuring her most sensitive place while his finger slowly stroked her inner walls.
“And here,” he groaned, sliding a second finger past the first and toward the tight hole of her back passage. “Fuck, your tight little arse will feel so good around my cock.”
She choked on a gasp when his second finger slipped into the tight ring of flesh, just enough to send another jolt through her. This pleasure was foreign to her, tinged with a slight burning sensation. Taking a man there was a prospect she’d have never thought possible. It made her flush with embarrassment, discomfiture and curiosity mingling in a way that seemed to enhance the pleasure of his thumb against her clit. No matter how much her mind told her the mention of such acts should revile her, her body came alive at the promise of what his words and touch offered.
What the devil was wrong with her? She needed to put a stop to this, to push him away and demand he unhand her unless he claimed to get on with deflowering her. This had not been part of their agreement—him forcing pleasure on her, taking away her determination to lie beneath him and passively surrendering her maidenhead.
God help her, she was spiraling, her entire body going rigid as the tension unfurled in a fell swoop she had no choice but surrender to. Throwing her head back, she let out a keening cry, her back arching as currents of pure pleasure jolted through her, all converging between her legs in pounding spasms that sent her eyes rolling back into her head.
When it had calmed, she went still beneath him, her body now limp upon the table. Her limbs went slack, and she doubted she could even find the strength to lift her head.
Her eyes stung, hot tears pooling in the depths. What had she been thinking challenging this man? Not only had he stripped her of her armor, he had proven to her that she possessed not a single weapon with which to fight him.
Adam gazed down at her, seemingly unruffled by what had just passed between them. And why should he feel anything? This had been about proving he could make her desire him—that she stood no chance of simply lying passively beneath him and pretending to be someplace else. He would not allow it.
Backing away from her a step, he continued staring down at her in a way that left her on edge. It was the same way he’d looked at her just before offering to buy her body for thirty thousand pounds. His upper lip curling as if she disgusted him now that it had ended, he hurled his words at her in a tone that made the warmth following her climax die a swift death.
“Your father … your uncle … your precious brother … they are not the men you think they are.”
Turning on his heel, he left the room as if he couldn’t be away from her fast enough. Behind him, the door slammed, rattling in the frame and causing her to flinch. A cold numbness washed over her, his words penetrating her middle like a sharp icicle and lodging deep.
Slowly sitting up, and then standing from the table, she began to shiver, her entire body as cold as if her blood had suddenly turned to ice water. His words echoed in her mind, tumbling over and around each other as if some part of her could not make sense of them. What had he meant by them, and what had he hoped to achieve by hurling cruelty at her after making her feel such pleasure? It was as if he’d purposely timed it to ruin the moment, to tip her back off balance.
It had worked, making her head spin and her gut churn as she tried to pull herself together.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked to where he’d left her dress, kneeling to pick it up in a stupor. Her hands shook too badly for her to put it back on, so she simply held it up over her naked breasts as she crossed through the connecting door to her chamber.
CHAPTER THREE
aphne awakened a few hours later with a pounding headache. After breakfast with Adam, she’d been unable to do anything other than retreat to her guest chamber and crawl into the bed, leaving her clothing in a pile on the floor. Pulling the blankets up over her head, she’d curled into a ball, hiding from the world … from the man who had so easily controlled her body before waging war on her mind.
Your father, your uncle, your precious brother … they are not the men you think they are.
The words had haunted her dreams, and now, they reverberated from the walls of her chamber. She needed to escape them, as well as this room, for a time. She located the garments she had discarded that morning and quickly put them back on. The blue ribbon she’d worn as a choker remained on the floor. She made sure to step on it as she walked toward the door, giving her heel a little twist. If she never saw the scrap of satin again, it would be too soon.
Planting her hand on the doorknob, she yelped and backpedaled as it moved against her fingers. The knob turned, and the heavy panel swung open to reveal Adam. Inclining his head, he smirked at her—as if he knew he’d frightened her out of her wits, appearing on the other side of the door just as she was about to open it.
Sweeping into the room, he paused just before her. He smelled of horse, leather, and the outdoors. His hair had been pulled back and tied with a scrap of ribbon, but stray tendrils framed his face as if tugged free by the wind.
He’d just come back from riding, if Daphne hadn’t missed her guess.
